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The Journal
You flip through the journal, mostly
you find drawings and scribblings that you almost can understand but remain
just beyond your ability to grasp. Finally you find something that seems
perfectly clear:
To whoever dares to tread the boards of this dread Manor…
I am leaving my Journal in this house as a legacy of what has befallen us, in
the hope that those who discover what we have created will make more fortuitous
purpose of them than my own people have. I am the last, and once I finish
writing these fateful words, I too will join them, wherever they have chosen to
be, as long as it is far from this cursed place.
Many years ago, and it seems like eons, we woke one morning to see a grey
shadow where once sunrise poured through the hill-gates of our peaceful vale. A
great edifice had appeared, out of nowhere, in the midst of our lonely plain,
as if planted there by some giant’s hand. It had no windows, only a large door
on one side, open, as if inviting us to enter and inquire as to its purpose.
After several days, there was no sign of life from the structure. A small party
of men tried to peer through the opening, but it was dark, and no movement or
light appeared from within. One, braver amongst the rest, ventured past the
portal, and the darkness swallowed him. He never returned. His wife, distraught
with grief, threw herself after him days later, and was also never to emerge
from that place.
We do not know what drew us into that strange place, but one by one, our entire
village entered the towering bulk, following each other as if a silent siren
lured us to our uncertain fate. I was not the last, but when my brothers were
no longer amongst those outside, I knew I had no choice but to throw myself at
the will of that which I knew not.
Although the entrance appeared totally dark, inside there was a large vestibule
furnished with low benches, on which friends and townsfolk sat, in animated
conversation. They looked up, smiled knowingly at me, and resumed their
discourses.
Branching off from this main room were many short hallways, each terminating in
solid doors, opening every so often to let people in and out. I approached one
of these doors and pushed at it. It refused to budge, but instead a voice,
seemingly from nowhere, asked me a question. I cannot remember to this day what
the question was, but I do recall it was about something I had learned, and I
was able to answer in a soft, uncertain voice.
The door swung open, and beyond it I saw my eldest brother, his arm around a
young girl I had known slightly, laughing and loudly telling outrageous lies
about his adventures. He saw me hesitating in the door, beckoned me furiously,
and clasped me eagerly with his great arms.
He then told me of the wonders of the Manor, as he called it. The rooms of rich
and interesting knowledge and wisdom, the chambers of Stamina, where we could
obtain energy that allowed us to forsake any nourishment, or even sleep. It
seemed he had completely forgotten the life we had back in our village, and
indeed, considered this Manor his new home.
Then he told me of the wondrous Devices scattered throughout the rooms and
floors of the Manor. Strange mysterious mechanisms of some alien science that
many had already been able to fathom their function, and perform wonderful and
tragic deeds with.
He exhorted me to go forth and gather these things, so I might learn and grow
in stature and power in the Manor, and perhaps one day, be the Lord of a Manor
of my own.
The Gnarled Man motions for you to keep the journal after you attempt to
return it, and he waves towards a door that has mysteriously appeared behind
him.
Walk Through the Door
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